


For The Sake of Moving Forward

by fightforyourwrite



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M, Mid Time Skip, New Special Operations Squad | New Squad Levi, Rivers, Walks In The Woods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-13 23:56:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11771124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightforyourwrite/pseuds/fightforyourwrite
Summary: Mikasa Ackerman takes a walk and realizes that she doesn't want to be alone.





	For The Sake of Moving Forward

**Author's Note:**

> Just a note, this takes place during the four-year time skip in the latest chapters of the SNK manga. I don't go into the specifics of what happened entirely during the Battle of Shiganshina. 
> 
> No spoilers, but if even you're aware of what went down, things should still make sense. 
> 
> At this point in time, I imagined Jean and Mikasa to be around seventeen.

When I see the sun in the sky for the first time in weeks, I decide to leave the cottage our squad has been stationed in and head outside. There’s not a lot for us to do when we’re left to our own devices. When our chores are finished for the day, it’s tough finding things to keep us occupied in our spare time.

When I truly have nothing else to do on a free afternoon, I decide to spend it taking a walk in the fall’s cold air. I feel like I’ve been overdue for some time outside, since a never ending rainfall kept us all indoors for days on end.

I sit on a crate near the cottage’s front door and lace up my boots. I do them up without thinking that someone will miss me when I’m gone. I hear footsteps coming towards me and wonder who it will be out of the three other people who I share the building with.

It can’t be Eren and Armin though. They’re not in today. Recently, I’ve found that their lack of spare time leads to us being unable to be together like a trio anymore. They’ve been getting called away from the squad more and more often. It’s infuriating.

Unfortunately, my days of arguing against us being apart are over.

The person walking to the front door comes into my sight and I see that it’s Jean. His ruffled hair makes me guess that he likely woke up late today. He probably slept in as well, a lot of us do when we’re allowed.

He seems quite curious in my presence, looking down at my boots and then up to me.

“Hey, Mikasa, what are you doing?” Jean asks.

“Taking a walk,” I respond as I slip my arms through the sleeves of my jacket.

“Oh…” Jean responds, nodding. “Do you want to be alone then?”

It takes me a moment to understand the motivations behind his question, but when I do, I dig deep into my heart and realize that my answer surprises even me.

“No, actually… I don’t think I want to be alone right now.” I shake my head at Jean and say, “You can come along if you want.”

My answer makes him smile and he’s outside with me in minutes.

It’s a time of year that leaves me longing for the sun. I think my mood will always benefit from seeing the light in the sky and feeling the rays on my skin.

Jean walks beside me in silence. I glance over to him on occasion. Every time I do, I see that he is taking in the scenery around us.

The air may be cold, but the leaves in the trees are in the middle of their transition from green to red. Some are on the ground while others are still on their branches. It’s a truly beautiful sight to take in.

I’m not against spending time with Jean. In fact, I don’t think I’m against spending time with anyone right now. I think in addition to wanting to escape the stuffiness of the cottage, I also want to get out of my own mind. Even if it’s just for a few moments.

When we walk, I step around the puddles of rainwater on the ground. In a complete contrast, Jean hops right into them to see how big of a splash he can make upon impact. It’s never that big and his boots only get mucky up to the ankle.

“Levi’s going to make you clean that when we get back,” I tell him. “He hates it when we track mud in from outside.”

Jean doesn’t seem to care. He shrugs his shoulders in response, “Yeah, I know.”

We get quite far into the woods with every step we take, so far that when I turn around, I can’t see the cottage anywhere behind us. We get closer to the river nearby. I can hear it humming slowly. It gets louder with every passing second.

As we walk, Jean speaks up and breaks the silence between us, “Hey, Mikasa?”

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you a weird question?”

I shrug my shoulders, “You’re already asking me one.”

Jean is quick to rephrase his words for me, “Okay, can I ask you a weird question plus the one I’m asking right now?”

I nod at him, “Yes and go ahead.”

“What do you think happens when you die?”

I don’t expect Jean to ask a question like that. It hits me at an angle I didn’t know existed until now. It takes me a moment of blinking and comprehension to fully think my answer through.

Me and Jean keep walking as I think, but eventually, our steps grow short and our legs become immobile. At one point, we stop walking altogether. We stand in front of each other. There’s nothing for me to do but to look him in the eye.

A part of me wonders why it’s me he wants to ask this kind of question to. But then in a moment, I think of the likelihood of him having had asked to others as well. There is a good chance that I’m not the only one.

I do understand him wanting to ask me when we are alone though. The cottage is a nice place to be, but the walls are quite thin. There’s always the chance that someone will hear whatever it is you're talking about, whether you want them too or not. Lord knows that we can hear whatever it is Sasha and Connie are doing when enter a room together and lock the door.

I can see an expectant look in Jean’s eyes. He’s waiting for an answer and I’m not sure if I can deliver.

“Well…” I start off. I say the first thing I can think of. “My father used to tell me that when a person died, their spirit would live on through their family members.”

The answer makes Jean nod his head. He understands things quickly, that’s one part of him that I’m actually quite fond of.

“Your father? You mean Eren’s father or…?”

I shake my head, “No, _my_ father. My birth father.” Things feel strange now because I woke up this morning not expecting to remember dad today. Now all I can think about is the way Dad used to smile, the way he used to sing, and the way he used to talk. “Dad told me a lot of things, but the concept of death wasn’t something he really touched up upon.”

My answer doesn’t appear to negatively impact Jean. I expected that he wanted something different out of me, but I guess I was wrong to assume so.

I see the expectation in his eyes starting to diminish. The soft look on his face fades away into one of plainness. Jean’s lips go into a straight line. It’s not sadness per se, it’s just nothingness. Nothing bad, nothing good, just nothing.

Eventually, his gaze drifts away from my eyes and goes downwards. Jean is staring down at the muddy ground when he replies, “Oh…”

He holds a kind of stillness that is so unwavering, I cannot ignore it.

I say the first thought that comes to my mind, “I’m sorry.”

Jean glances back up at me and raises an eyebrow, “Why?”

“You looked like you wanted me to say something else,” I tell him. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t.”

Jean shakes his head quickly, “No, no, don’t worry about it. You don’t have to apologize.” He’s quick to carry the conversation on, “You know, my ma used to tell me something just like that. That um… when you die, your spirit lives on through everyone you love. I guess that means some people are never truly gone… or something like that.”

He starts to walk down the path in the woods again. When he gets a few steps ahead of me, I follow and break into a brief run so I can catch up with him.

“What’s with this talk about death?” I ask.

Jean spares me a quick glance before shrugging, “I dunno. Just been thinking about stuff lately. I’m allowed to think, aren’t I?”

“Of course, you’re allowed to think,” I reply. “I’m just wondering why you’re thinking about death? You’re not afraid to die, aren’t you?”

“Afraid?” Jean asks, leaning down to the ground to pick up a stick. He stands up straight again once the stick is securely in his grasp and I notice that his fingers are tinted grey. It’s probably from the charcoal he uses to draw. He’s been drawing a lot now lately.

Jean stops talking and it’s almost like I can see the gears turning inside of his head. He plays around with his stick and drags it across various tree branches and trunks as we walk past them.

“Well… I keep telling myself that I want to be remembered when I die,” Jean responds in a moment.

“You’ll be remembered, Jean,” I tell him. “Everyone in the Corps will.”

“Yeah, but as a soldier,” he brings up, huffing slightly. “There’s no other way for me to be remembered _except_ as a soldier. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with being remembered that way, but…”

“But what?”

I keep the question up in the air as we walk. Jean stops talking and stares at the ground. It’s easy for me to tell that he’s thinking, I just don’t know what of. His face is very still, immobile. I cannot detect any discernible emotion in his expression.

Eventually, it seems that Jean wants to drop the conversation entirely. He keeps walking and I follow him. He doesn’t say another word.

After a few minutes of absolute silence, me and Jean come upon the river. The water’s hum has been gradually filling the space between me and him,

The sound of the river flowing seeps in through my ears and settles deep into my heart. It rushes quickly but flows with a kind of grace I cannot explain.

I take seat on a boulder near the water, one that is high enough to keep me from slipping in. I look over to Jean with the expectation that he will sit down as well, but he doesn’t. Instead, he keeps standing and walks on the sandy bank. His boots sink into the tiny grains as he goes.

Jean stares out towards water blankly. I still can’t tell what he’s thinking and by now, I think I’d really like to.

One thing I know about Jean is that he always says whatever is on his mind. I don’t know what it is that has him so troubled that he cannot speak.

He sighs and kneels to the ground. He takes the stick in his hand and stabs it into the sandy bank, where it stands upright. Then he grabs a rock from the ground before standing up again.

He’s standing quite far, but I can still see him staring at the rock with deep intent. He drags his thumb across the smooth surface as he contemplates what to do.

Then in a seemingly spontaneous move, he lugs the rock into the river. It lands with a distinctive plopping noise and sinks until it is never seen again.

Jean kneels down to the river and grabs another rock. He throws it again just like before and it lands in the same way. He keeps the action up until it gets to the point where the sound of the rocks splashing into the water starts to feel rhythmic. It eventually blends easily into the sound of the river flowing.

We stay like that for a while, me sitting down and Jean throwing stones into the rushing water.

My hand feels around on the stone I’m sitting on. It finds a single damp leaf, something stuck to the surface. I peel it off and hold it in my palm, pressing it until the water coating it is spread all over my hand.

Eventually, the sound of Jean throwing stones stops. I look up just in time to see him with his stick in his hand again.

Curiously, I watch him as he walks over to a flat patch of sand on the bank. He leans down and writes the sentence **_JEAN KIRSCHTEIN WAS HERE_ ** in large letters like it’s the only thing left for him to do in this world. He then starts drawing other things and writing other phrases into the ground.

It was quite interesting to hear that he’s not afraid of dying anymore, especially when compared to how Jean seemed when were nothing more but trainees. The day I first saw him is long behind us by now. He feels like a different person to me now, but in a good way. Everyone changes with the passage of time, even me.

I think about Jean’s current outlook on the chance of his death and wonder what he had to give up in order to get to that point. Armin told me that those who cannot sacrifice anything will achieve nothing, or some sort of variation of that. Either way, I keep thinking about his words now.

If you give up that much of yourself towards a cause, what’s left of your humanity? Who are you left to be when the battle is over? Are you even human at that point?

I take in a breath and scoot off the rock. I drop the leaf on the ground as I walk up to Jean. By the time I get to him, he’s kicking sand onto his words in order to erase them from existence.

“Hey,” I speak calmly.

He perks up and looks at me with modest eyes, “Yeah?”

“We should head back,” I suggest. “I think we’ve been gone for too long.”

Jean nods simply and lets his stick fall down to the ground. He doesn’t look at me as he starts walking away from the river and back into the woods. I follow him and wonder if we might have missed anything at the cottage while we were gone.

The air around us is cold and nips my face as we keep moving. There is a slight breeze pushing against us as we walk. Jean doesn’t say a word to me as our boots step on the ground. I don’t expect him to at all.

I contemplate the words he said to me, all of them.

The only way any of us will truly be remembered is as soldiers. It doesn’t matter who we are at the end of our lives or at the start. We will all be judged by what we gave up for a better world.

I think I can understand Jean’s feelings towards dying. While he doesn’t seem as dead set on avoiding it as he used to, he seems worried about it.

Who wouldn’t feel uneasy about the possibility of losing their life?

The end for him and me can pop up any day now, I think we’ve all been anticipating it in light of recent events. I think Jean fears that but hides it underneath himself for the sake of moving forward.

But does our anticipation for the end really differentiate us from everyone else? Are we truly different than other people in this world?

We’re all essentially living on death’s row. Some people will go sooner whereas others will go later. Only a few people will be informed as to when their time will truly be up.

We all have a start in this world. We all have an end as well.


End file.
